Blue Suede Shoes
by Grav
Summary: In which a serial killer evolves under Graveyard's collective nose, the title has little to do with the story, and I learn never to mix fan fics with Carl Perkins


Disclaimer: I own them. Bwa ha ha! I don't really, but you all *coughlabtechcough* know what you can get me *coughlabtechcough* for Christmas.  
  
Rating: PG for body descriptions, and because that's the rating I always use.  
  
Summary: In which a serial killer evolves under Graveyard's collective nose, the title has little to do with the story, and I learn never to mix CSI fanfiction with Carl Perkins.  
  
A.N. I am trying out a new style. There will be four chapters. I bet you can guess the titles! Have fun, and read responsibly. I'm in the market for a beta if anyone is interested.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
~One For the Money~  
  
Life had been pretty good lately. Not stellar of course, but that could hardly be expected from someone in his profession. In these days of laws and rules, there wasn't much call for his kind of work. Still, he ate regularly, dressed well, and was threatened with bodily harm on a less than weekly basis. This new job was different though. While he had no qualms about staged muggings, threatening kids and spouses, or even beating someone to within an inch of death, actually killing them was a whole other ball of wax.  
  
Of course with the money he would be making, he could probably start a candle factory.  
  
He'd hum and haw for a bit, but he knew in the end he'd take the job. Retirement far from Las Vegas was looking terribly appealing just now. After all, it was just one.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Gil Grissom took a perverse delight in knowing that the Graveyard shift solved more cases than their Day counterparts. While part of him knew that this was likely because Days got more professional hits while Nights got more psychopathic killers, he was more than willing to take the statistics at face value. Gil Grissom was like that sometimes.  
  
The scene he was currently surveying had all the earmarks of a hit. As he shone his flashlight around the elevator in his initial sweep, he made a mental note to find out why one talked about earmarks when discussing something's appearance. He had just finished both sweep and catalogue when Sara Sidle arrived at the scene, pushing her way through the crowded lobby of the MGM Grand. She carried her field kit in one hand, while she tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to put a rubber glove on the other.  
  
"There's no rush Sara" Grissom pointed out "the evidence isn't going anywhere, and something tells me that it isn't going to help much anyway."  
  
Sara grunted a reply, removed the glove from her teeth, set down her case, and finished gloving up in the conventional two handed fashion. A few moments later, the beam from her flashlight joined his, and they moved in to examine the body. Since the coroner hadn't arrived yet, they concentrated on surroundings first; there would be plenty of time for the corpse once David pronounced. The body was male, and dressed in what had been a nice suit. It was slouched over in the elevator, and from the blood spatter, it appeared to have spun around by the force of a blow before coming to rest in a slumped position on the floor. Sara's camera flashed as she began to take photos of the walls and floor of the elevator, as well as the body itself. Grissom had found himself a footstool and worked on obtaining the security camera.  
  
"It's been broken." He said with some asperity as he climbed down.  
  
"There might still be prints." Sara replied placatingly without looking up. "You should try the first floor cameras too. That's where the elevator was going."  
  
David entered the elevator and Sara stepped back to give him room. He perfunctionally felt for a pulse, and then pronounced the body deceased. A quick check of the victim's pockets produced a wallet, which David handed over to Sara.  
  
"Abraham Collins, Las Vegas Nevada." She reported, "Money and cards still here. This was no robbery."  
  
"I'll second that." Said David "His watch and ring are still here too."  
  
"Is there anything on them?" Grissom jumped in.  
  
"No." replied David after he looked. "Ring is plain gold, and the watch is expensive, but nothing is engraved."  
  
"All right then, we'll see you in autopsy." Grissom said.  
  
"Oh, Mr. Grissom," David added on his way out with the gurney, "One gunshot to the back of the head. We should be able to get the bullet out for ballistics."  
  
"Thanks David, we'll see you later."  
  
With the coroner gone, Grissom and Sara stared into the elevator wondering what they could do next. Both were fighting down the feeling that this was going to result in dead ends no matter how diligent they were.  
  
"Oooh, this is going to be fun." Came the voice of Warrick Brown from behind them. "Dibs on not printing the elevator."  
  
"Since you were late. . ." began Sara.  
  
"Seems fair to me." Cut in Grissom, who went on in spite of the disgusted look Sara shot him, "Get the cameras from the elevator landings on each floor and all the exits and see what you can find. Print them too."  
  
Warrick shot Sara a laughing smile, took the camera Grissom was holding out to him, and made off to get to work. Grissom turned back to Sara and obliviously handed her some powder and a brush. Then they too fell to work.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
"What do you think I am, a magician?" Jacqui exploded when she saw the sheer volume of prints that Sara placed on her desk.  
  
"Greg will lend you the hat again if you need it." Sara replied calmly. "Who knows, we might even get lucky. I'm going to help you, and you can use it as a training exercise for all those interns who switched to Graveyard tonight."  
  
"That's actually a pretty good idea." Jacqui said thoughtfully. "Do you really think we'll get lucky?"  
  
"We got 100 prints and over 500 partials. Not a single one came from the elevator buttons." Sara said dryly.  
  
"I'm not sure I like those odds." Jacqui replied.  
  
"I like mine a lot better." Warrick said from the doorway. "The only two cameras that didn't work were the elevator and the first floor ones. The one in the elevator looks like it's been wiped, but the one from the hallway does have prints."  
  
"I'll put a rush on it. Where can I find you?" Jacqui said.  
  
"AV with Archie going over the tapes." And he was gone.  
  
"Well," sighed Sara picking up a file and heading for the computer, "lets get started."  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
The fluorescent lighting in the autopsy bay always gave the room a surreal look. Of course, you can't get much more surreal than an autopsy bay without leaving the planet. Still, it was a strange, sterile, odd smelling place. Grissom liked it here.  
  
"Victim is male, Caucasian, 43 years of age identified as Abraham Collins by the ID he was carrying in his affects." Said Dr. Robbins to his tape recorder with a nod to acknowledge Grissom's presence. "Post mortem bruising on his back, presumably from the fall to the floor of the elevator."  
  
"What's this?" cut in Grissom, pointing to the cadaver's face.  
  
Dr. Robbins shot him a look that was half annoyed and half amused. He flicked the recorder off and replied.  
  
"Black eye. Probably two days old. Are you going to keep interrupting?"  
  
"No I'll go." Came the contrite reply, "but can I have the bullet first?"  
  
Nodding, Robbins picked up a set of tweezers and pulled the corpse's head up. After a few moments, he'd extracted the bullet, placed it in the petrie dish Grissom was holding, and sent him on his way.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
"I'd guess it's a .44" drawled Bobby without looking up from his microscope.  
  
"Don't guess Bobby." Quipped Grissom. "Clean off the brain matter and tell me."  
  
Grinning, Bobby deposited the bullet into the bath he'd prepared and put the whole thing into the agitator. He turned on the machine, and the bullet shook off its contaminants. After a few moments, Bobby picked the bullet up again, and set it back under the scope.  
  
"Yeah, it's a .44." was the report. "It has a real interesting firing pattern because of the silencer. I'll take a picture and run it through IBIS for you."  
  
A few more minutes passed, and IBIS came up empty. Grissom headed for the print lab, but Bobby assured him that should another bullet or the gun be recovered, a match was ironclad. He was no more than half way down the hall towards the lab when Sara came barreling out of the Break Room looking part guilty and part annoyed.  
  
"Anything in autopsy?" she asked.  
  
"No." he said, characteristically laconic. "what are you doing?"  
  
She flushed and responded "Looking for you. And coffee. We're out of sugar again."  
  
"There's plenty of sweetener." He replied, "What else did you want me to know when you've decided I'm good and ready.  
  
"We found one match." The stress she put on the word 'one' made evident her exasperation. "His name is Barry Altman, and according to his non-gaming card, he's a bell boy at the Grand. Brass got him. He's in interrogation."  
  
"That's not bad. Where was the print?"  
  
"On the camera. Jacqui found it."  
  
"Well then, shall we go have a chat with Mr. Altman?"  
  
"Yeah." She said through a smile that did not reach her eyes, "why not."  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Jim Brass finally found Nick and Catherine in the Break Room. He wasn't sure why he hadn't looked there first. It wasn't that they took an inordinate number of breaks. Maybe they just didn't like reading through people's lives in the Layout Rooms.  
  
"Please tell me you have something for us." Catherine said by way of greeting. "This guy doesn't have so much as a parking ticket."  
  
"I just talked with Mrs. Collins." Brass began. "It seems her husband had a bit of a gambling problem and owed someone money. Before you ask, she doesn't know who. There have been strange calls to the house he wouldn't tell her about, and he came home from work with a black eye two days ago."  
  
"Did he run into a door?" asked Nick with thinly veiled sarcasm.  
  
"No." replied Brass dryly, "he knocked it on his desk trying to pick up a pen."  
  
"Points for originality." Put in Catherine. "Wife a suspect?"  
  
"Mrs. Collins was at her sister's house in Henderson for the entire night. She hasn't been home yet, we interviewed her there." Came the reply, "but if it is a hit, she could be covering, or have hired the killer herself."  
  
"I'm assuming you didn't mention that." Nick asked, lightly smiling in the face of Brass' black look.  
  
"Where's Grissom?" Brass asked.  
  
"He's in interrogation with Sara and some hotel employee." Catherine answered, "Hopefully they'll get something. Regardless of what you think of the wife, the rest of us are big into a dead end."  
  
"Tell me about it." Said Warrick, entering the room and heading straight for the refrigerator, "AV turned up nothing. All the working cameras on the first floor have hundreds of people on them, and none are doing something suspicious. I've chained Archie to the frame by frames, but he's got a good eye. If we missed it on the first time through, it's going to be hard for him to track it down."  
  
"I always liked a good old fashioned interrogation." Reflected Brass with a smile.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Sara had often wondered about the interrogation rooms. It seemed to her to be specifically designed to make the interviewee as uncomfortable as possible, and yet it was decorated (if one used the term loosely) much like a hospital. Then again, she didn't exactly feel warm and cozy there either.  
  
Barry Altman turned out to be a young man of about 24 years, with dark hair and a washed out complexion that the lighting did nothing to improve. He wrung his hands constantly, and his sweat was clearly visible through the observation room window.  
  
"Do you think he's stewed long enough?" Asked Grissom, as though Barry were an entrée.  
  
"Yeah, lets put him out of his misery." Replied Sara, thinking two could play at this game. "I'm starting to feel sorry for him."  
  
"Be careful Sara. I don't want this clouded up with emotions."  
  
She made no reply, and since his back was turned, he completely missed her eloquent eye roll. He was nice enough to hold the door for her though. Barry Altman looked up at them like a deer in the headlights.  
  
"Mr. Altman," began Grissom in what Nick called The Impending Embarrassment Voice, "You work at the MGM Grand correct?"  
  
Barry nodded and gulped.  
  
"And you are a bell boy?" Another nod. "Then may I ask why you tampered with the camera on the first floor just outside the elevator?"  
  
Barry gulped again. According to time honoured interrogation traditions, it was time for Sara to stick her oar in.  
  
"Barry, your finger prints are all over the video camera. We have enough to charge you with murder." They didn't of course, but Sara was willing to bet no one had told him that.  
  
"I didn't kill him!" Barry burst out, "I don't even know the guy."  
  
"Then why are your prints on the camera?" demanded Sara in the voice she had practiced for hours with Brass and a tape recorder on slow nights. "Keep talking Barry."  
  
"After College I had some pretty stiff loans, and the interest was killing me." He began in a voice that indicated he never expected to see the light of day again, "I found a company with very little interest, and borrowed from them to pay off the first loan. It was a great deal. After I had spent all the money, and got a job, I started to pay them back, regular as the Manhattan Express. I had $2000 to go, and one day their collection people came to call and demanded the rest of the money. I said it would take more time, and one of them pulled a knife and said 'Not too much I hope'. I was making plans to borrow from the bank again, and I got a letter telling me to break the camera and call the elevator to the first floor at 1:16 this morning."  
  
"And that pays your debt." Sara rolled her eyes at Grissom who added, "What's the name of the loan company?"  
  
"Easy Loan." Came the reply, "But it was online, and the website is gone."  
  
Sara gaped at his stupidity, "Do you still have the letter?"  
  
"Yeah, it's at my house."  
  
"Typed or hand-written?"  
  
"Typed. And it was in my locker at work when I got there tonight."  
  
"Take Brass and get it." Grissom said and Sara left the room. Grissom signaled the officer who had been waiting outside to come in.  
  
"Barry Altman," said Grissom, "You are under arrest as an accessory in the murder of Abraham Collins. Officer, take him to booking."  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
It was almost 10:00AM, when Greg sent out the All Call. Fourteen hours after shift officially began, fifteen hours since Nick had entered the building, and seven hours and forty-four minutes since Abraham Collins had taken a fatal one way trip in an elevator. As he made his way to the conference room, Nick remembered that he had been the last one to get to work tonight, and realized that half of him was hoping for a dead end so he could go home and go to bed. Feeling slightly blasphemous, Nick firmly put those feelings aside.  
  
They sat around the table like knights at a medieval feast, except the table was rectangular and Greg felt guilty about the meagre fare he was about to serve them. He hoped it would suffice. Beside him, Archie Johnson shifted uncomfortably, unused to seeing the entire shift at once and nervous about presenting something that didn't exactly fall into his realm of expertise.  
  
With a cough and a quick look around the table, Greg began.  
  
"There are no prints, other than Altman's, on the envelope or the paper. The paper and envelope are generic. The printer left no mark on the paper, and the envelope was not sealed with saliva."  
  
Greg turned to Archie, who looked like he was about to be sick, but spoke anyway.  
  
"It was sealed with water, presumably applied with a sponge of some sort. Greg was in the Break Room worrying about not having anything to give you guys, so I told him to run a chemical analysis of the water."  
  
"Why?" broke in Warrick.  
  
"Well, all of the water in Las Vegas comes from Lake Mead, but there are five dispensaries in the Greater Las Vegas Area. Each of the plants dispenses water with a unique chemical mix." Archie explained.  
  
"We have a database for that?" Asked Catherine incredulously.  
  
"Not officially." Archie said apologetically. "As part of the continuing education program I took a chemistry class at WLVU. The database is my term project. I was going to test it eventually, but if you want it, go ahead."  
  
"Thanks Archie, and if it works, I'll send it to Forensic Monthly with my recommendation." Said Grissom. "Which well."  
  
"Now there's where we get really lucky." Said Greg, "It's in that new private community out Anasazi Drive. Very high class, and not many people have moved in yet."  
  
"We can't discount the possibility that someone just used someone else's garden hose at two in the morning." Sara pointed out.  
  
"Yeah, but we're running out of leads." Warrick said, "The firing pattern's no good until we get something to compare it too, regardless of how unique the silencer makes it. The wife, the bell boy and the videos were dead ends, and the prints aren't being helpful. There's just too many of them."  
  
"So what next?" Nick asked.  
  
"I'll put some of my guys out on the street and see what can be dug up." Offered Brass, "I've got some good people undercover. They'll get us something."  
  
"Are we treating this as a hit?" Catherine asked.  
  
"We're treating it as a murder." Grissom replied. "but from the evidence, it's safe to hypothesize that it was a hit."  
  
"So what does that mean?" Asked Sara her voice slightly acerbic.  
  
"It means" he replied obliviously unruffled, "that it was one for the money."  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
A.N. Earmarks, in case you were wondering, is the term for the mark applied to the ear of a stock animal (usually a sheep because cattle are branded) to differentiate it from the stock of neighbouring ranches.  
  
I made up the part about the wells (except I'm assuming that they do get their water from Lake Mead. It seems silly to build it and then not use it), and spun that part about Archie out of thin air. I did try for continuity with the CE program though.  
  
I wish I could write essays this long. 


End file.
